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Wrying 3

I am so bland, parched

and dry; I sleep in

the sands where the

sea laps and strands

of death wrap the depths

of ocean in my mind.


{I asked}the moon for tides,

{but} waves keep

crashing near; {I am}

tired afraid aching {saying}

“leave me alone my darling…

{i’m okay}; I’m dying,”

and slowly silently blinding.

{those words} i spake to the wave,

it slapped and lapped at me

waxing and waning

eclipsing the whiteness

{i need to}wear over my regrets

nobody gets except you{hear}me

laughing while not laughing

—this upsidown-thing's not working;

{and I can't} stop wrying.


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